WINSTON
He showed up in my yard one day and stuck around.
At first, he lived in the crawlspace.
When my landlords sealed up the crawlspace, Winston moved into a wine crate in the garden.
Then, I built him a little house.
When my landlords sold the house, they staged the yard with IKEA lanterns and patio furniture. Winston took advantage of the plush temporary sleeping quarters.
Winston passed away last year. I had been taking care of him for about two years. The vet said he was probably ten years old. I never knew where he came from, but he is missed.
DISCLAIMER: If it enters your brain that I must be lame since I write about random cats who cross my path, consider these alternatives: I could play fantasy football. I could watch live 24/7 feeds of Big Brother. I could listen to Maroon 5. True creatures of the night will appreciate the companionship of other noctural animals. Stay tuned for more Insomnicats. Consider yourself endarkened.
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